Unsaid: A Novel (18 page)

Liza laughs into her glass. “Well,
there’s
a pot, kettle, black thing if ever I heard one.” She clinks David’s glass with her own. “Besides, I can’t have a drinking problem; I’m a mental health professional.”

“I know it’s not easy being here.”

“Not easy, no. But at least with you I don’t have to pretend.” Liza slowly takes in the living room and then all my books still where I’d left them. “It’s just that it’s the first time I’ve been in this house without her being here. I’ve been avoiding it.”

“Really? I didn’t notice,” David jokes.

They make small talk for an hour about David’s job, Liza’s patients, her new love interest of the moment (who “has the kids for the holiday”), Sally, and of course the animals. There is, however, a large white elephant in the room—and I am it and I hate being it. I become larger and whiter as their wine buzz begins to fade.

“Do you want to talk about how you’re really doing?” Liza finally asks as the two of them sit down to a dinner from the small gourmet store in town—mashed potatoes, roast asparagus, stuffing, cranberries, and spinach.

“You first.”

“C’mon now. Stop playing around. I’m worried about you.”

“You said I had five years,” David says as he makes himself a plate. “It hasn’t even been two months.”

“You have as long as you need. It’s not a race.”

“But…?”

“But the only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth and the grief. Moving on doesn’t just happen. It takes some work, too.”

“I thought I was working.”

Liza makes a sweeping gesture with her arm toward the bookcases. “Nothing’s been moved. I don’t see a single box.”

“So?”

“This house was all about Helena, and it still is. I bet if I went into the bedroom and opened up her closet, I’d still find her clothes.”

“That’s a pretty good bet. So what?”

“Doesn’t it hurt every time you see her things?”

“Of course, but wouldn’t it hurt more to get rid of them?”

“Sure, at first. It’s called catharsis.” Liza reaches out and touches David’s hand. “It’s why we bury people and have funerals instead of hanging the bodies from the ceiling. It hurts really, really bad and then the wounds scab over.”

“Can we talk about something else? It’s Thanksgiving, after all.” David reaches for the wine bottle.

“Sure.” Liza moves the food around on her plate for a few tense moments. “Who do you like for governor?” she says with smile.

David almost passes a mouthful of wine through his nose. Liza has never voted in any election and believes the capital of New York is Manhattan. When he finally composes himself, David asks, “Are you, you know, working past it?”

“I’m not a fair comparison. I mean, I knew her longer than you, but she wasn’t my wife. I didn’t share a bed with her. And besides,
all joking aside, I do have five years of training in emotional objectivity, coping mechanisms, and grief counseling, and a dozen years of private practice in psychotherapy. You don’t have any of that background.”

“So, is that a yes or a no?”

Liza shrugs and looks down at her plate. “Both.”

David pushes back from the table and rubs his hands together. “Enough shop talk. I’ve got something for you.”

He leaves the room and returns a few seconds later with a small box wrapped in Christmas paper. He goes to the couch in the living room and pats the spot next to him. Liza joins him.

David hands Liza the package. “An early Christmas present, since you’ll be in Mexico with what’s-his-name.”

She opens the paper to reveal a small square jewelry box. “You proposing to me?”

“Just open it, you moron.”

Liza lifts the lid on the box. Her eyes widen and her breath catches. “Oh, my,” is all she can manage before the tears come.

Like most women, over the years I’d accumulated several drawers of jewelry. Very few pieces actually had meaning to me and, of these, two mattered the most. The first, a pendant consisting of all the tags of the dogs I had loved and lost, was cremated with me at my request. Those tags had meaning only to me, so I thought that was fair.

The second item was an antique platinum-and-sapphire ring David had found in Paris during our honeymoon. Liza always loved the ring and jokingly (long before I knew I was sick and never after) asked me to leave it to her if I died first. This is what David gives to Liza now.

“I know Helena wanted to be sure you got it after…”

“That bitch,” Liza sobs as she throws her arms around David and buries her face in his shoulder.

The doorbell rings and the dogs bark at the intrusion. “You better get the door,” Liza says into David’s shirt, but she shows no intention of letting go.

Before David can extract himself, Joshua lets himself in and, followed by the three dogs, finds Liza and David in the living room. David offers Joshua a weak smile.

“Is everyone all right?” Joshua asks over the sound of Liza’s sobs.

“Just fine,” David answers. “Our professionally trained and emotionally objective friend over here is just having a moment.” Liza punches David on the shoulder. “Ouch.”

“You’re such a wuss,” Liza says as she wipes her eyes. “Happy Thanksgiving, Joshua.” Liza gives Joshua a kiss on the cheek. “Excuse me.” Liza heads for the bathroom, leaving David and Joshua alone.

“I was beginning to wonder whether you were ever going to come over,” David says.

“I know,” Joshua says. “I wanted to be able to… I couldn’t find the…”

David lifts himself off the couch. “I understand. I wouldn’t be here, either, if I didn’t live here.”

“I didn’t mean that.” Joshua stops himself, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Maybe I did.”

“Doesn’t matter.” David hugs him. “You’re here with me now.”

Liza, a little more composed and blowing her nose, makes a noisy return.

David lifts his glass to Joshua and Liza. “Welcome to my home,” he says. The emphasis on the word
my
is painfully clear.

“Now you just need to start filling it with your own things. Don’t you think?” Liza turns to Joshua in the hope of extracting some moral support.

Joshua is a smart man. He’s seen the house. “How does that poem go again?” Joshua asks. “The one about home?”

“ ‘… bereft of anyone to please…,’ ” Liza starts.

“ ‘… it withers so,’ ” David finishes and then swallows the remains of his wine.

Barely five miles from David’s house, Sally and Clifford finish their own modest but happy Thanksgiving dinner in their tiny dining room.

“Thank you, Mama. That tasted very good,” Clifford says. It is precisely what a normal, polite, and well-brought-up nine-year-old would say at this moment, except that his voice is devoid of affect or warmth; it is like a compliment coming from the voice synthesizer of a computer.

Sally smiles back at her son. “You’re very welcome. What did you like best?”

“Stuffing. You make the best stuffing.”

“Well, thank you, Cliff. Would you like another piece of pie?”

Clifford rubs his stomach. “No thank you, Mama.”

“You know that I’m very proud of you, son.” For an instant, Clifford’s eyes show understanding, but then he cocks his head to one side just like a dog in the face of something it doesn’t comprehend. “I know you work very hard on your exercises and at school and I want you to know that I’m just so proud of you. You never forget that, okay?”

Clifford’s face holds the same blank look. “Do you think Skippy’s sleeping right now?”

Sally works hard to maintain her smile. For just one moment, she had allowed herself to believe that they were a normal family having a normal conversation that lasted more than one precise question and one specific answer. She had permitted herself to imagine that Clifford could verbally acknowledge her love for him.

“I suspect Skippy is asleep by now, honey,” Sally answers. “Would you like to see him tomorrow?”

Clifford doesn’t answer the question. He’s already moved on to something else. “Can I watch television now, Mama?”

“Yes, you may,” Sally says. “Only one of your DVDs, okay? It’s already set up for you.” Clifford hops down from the chair and runs into the adjoining room. Within seconds, I can hear the muffled sounds of the television.

Even with the noise, the apartment is remarkably still and quiet. This is what loneliness sounds like.

The phone in the kitchen rings. Sally stares at it like it is a downed power line—inherently dangerous, capable of causing great pain, and unpredictable. She finally answers it. “Yes?”

“Hi, Sally. It’s Joshua. I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

“Nope.”

“David said you were up with your father.”

“Yes, well, I’m home now. Were you with David?”

“For a little while.”

“How was he?”

“About what you’d expect, I guess.”

“It was nice of you to go. It’s a hard holiday to grieve.”

“Yes, it is,” Joshua answers from too-personal knowledge. “How was your holiday with your father?”

Sally laughs bitterly. “Not what you’d expect, I think.”

“Oh?”

“Really long story,” Sally says, closing off further inquiry.

“Well…,” Joshua stammers. “I just really… um… I want to wish you and Clifford a happy Thanksgiving.”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure.” Joshua braces for something rejecting.

“Let’s you and I give each other the gift of three minutes of honesty. Tonight I’m just too old and too tired for anything else.”

“Okay, starting when?”

“Right now,” Sally says. “Why did you really want to call tonight?” Joshua pauses in his answer. “No thinking now,” Sally commands. “Just tell me.”

“Okay, here goes… Okay, now.”

“I’m aging here, Joshua. Just get it out, man. Why did you call?”

Now Joshua’s words come out in a rush. “I was thinking about you. Since you’ve reappeared after all this time, I find myself thinking about you. I don’t really know why or what it means. But I’d like to take you out for an evening and see what happens?”

“Wow,” Sally says. “That was good.”

“Now your turn,” Joshua says.

“No way,” Sally says, laughing.

“But… but you said,” Joshua stammers.

“I lied,” she says, still laughing. “But I will accept your invitation for an outing. You can call in the IOU for your three minutes then.”

“You’re a cruel, cruel woman, you know that?” Joshua says, but his tone is lighthearted.

“I may be cruel, but I’m not stupid. And here’s a down payment—you made me laugh tonight. I needed that. Thank you.”

As the shadows outside my house deepen and finally—thankfully—turn to dark, David finishes the Thanksgiving dishes. Having Liza and Joshua over may have been a good thing for him, but I know he was happy to see them go so he could face the white elephant by himself.

David eyes my books on the shelves in the living room and Liza’s parting words echo in his ears—“This house was all about Helena, and it still is.” David nods to himself. “Okay,” he mutters. “But just not tonight.”

My husband lifts his glass of wine off the dining room table and takes it into the den, where the dogs and several of the cats are already asleep.

David turns on the television, pops a DVD into the player, and picks up the remote control. He presses a few buttons and watches the screen. Within moments I see the familiar beginning of
Homeward Bound
.

David drops into the recliner in front of the television. As soon as he gets comfortable, Skippy jumps into his lap and turns so that he, too, is facing the TV. Skippy’s alert eyes watch the movement on the screen.

David falls asleep in a matter of minutes. He’s made it through his Thanksgiving.

There is a picture of me on a small table next to the recliner. In the picture, I’m walking through the woods of New Hampshire on a beautiful autumn day. I hold a younger Skippy in my arms. I’m laughing at some face David is making behind the camera. I remember that day; I may have had a day when I was happier, but if so, I can no longer remember it.

Skippy adjusts himself on David’s lap so that his head now rests on the arm of the recliner, staring at that picture. Skippy’s eyes show
recognition and then he makes a sound. Perhaps it’s my imagination, but to me it sounds like a sigh.

While David slumbers, Jaycee parks her red Jeep in the woods near a gap in the chain-link fence surrounding the CAPS facility. She slides through the fence and heads toward her old lab.

National holidays are not a good time for animals in government captivity. Exercise periods are suspended and a skeleton custodial staff ensures only that the animals have enough food and clean water until the next check-in twelve hours later.

Jaycee must have counted on this, because the entire CAPS facility appears abandoned for Thanksgiving. I don’t see another human and there’s only one car—marked
CAPS DEPARTMENT OF SECURITY
—in the large parking lot.

Jaycee makes it to her lab building without incident. She ignores the front door and instead moves to a side window. She pushes on the window, but it doesn’t budge. “Bastard. That bastard,” she mutters.

Jaycee crouches down and takes out a small sheet of paper and a penlight from her coat pocket. In the narrow beam of the light, I can see a crudely drawn picture of her lab building. One of the windows is marked with a large red
X
. Jaycee laughs quietly.

She puts the paper and light back in her pocket and moves to the next window. When Jaycee pushes on the base of this one, it opens easily. I can hear her exhale of relief.

Jaycee climbs through the opening and into the darkened lab. She takes a minute to orient herself and then jogs to the Cube in the middle of the room. Cindy is curled into a ball in the corner.

“Cindy,” Jaycee whispers. “It’s me. Wake up.”

Cindy doesn’t stir at all. In that moment, we both fear the worst. “Cindy!”

Jaycee unlocks the Cube, opens it slightly, and reaches in for Cindy’s hand. It must be warm to her touch because Jaycee relaxes, but still Cindy doesn’t move.

Jaycee checks the clipboard affixed to the outside of the enclosure. There it is on the first page. Cindy has been given a dose of ketamine large enough to tranquilize a horse. “Damn it all.” Jaycee clearly hadn’t planned on trying to carry seventy-five pounds of deadweight. She quickly scans for something to assist her, but the room has been stripped of all equipment by this point.